


The Red Riding Hood Job

by Alazan



Series: Stiles Stilinski's Criminal Record: The Red Files [1]
Category: Leverage, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Break Up, Guns, Hitter Stiles, Killing, Mercenaries, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Relationship(s), S3E15 of Leverage, S3E16 of Leverage, Sterek is mostly hinted, Stiles Leaves, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles-centric, Tags May Change, Their break up is used as the emotions that fuel Stiles in this, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alazan/pseuds/Alazan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moreau is in need of a new Hitter for a particular case. But he can't just hire a new one...he needs to make one. </p><p>Enter Stiles Stilinski, heart recently broken and very worried about his and his father's safety after someone his dad locked away years ago breaks out. </p><p>Moreau offers Stiles seemingly everything. Protection for his father, an escape from Beacon Hills, and the training to never feel vulnerable and weak again. The price? Moreau needs to know Stiles is willing to get his hands dirty. Moreau captures the escaped convict, presents him to Stiles on a silver platter and offers Stiles a gun. </p><p>Stiles becomes known as 'Red', one of Moreau's newest, best, and most faithful lap dogs...that is until the Leverage Team tries to take Moreau out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"It is yet unclear how Ivan Winters manage to escape, but there is suspicions there was help from the inside. Citizens are advice to keep an eye out and be on alert. Winters is dangerous and possibly arme-"_

**_*Click*_ **

Stiles turned around when the television was shut off and about to exclaim indignation, when he saw his father's face. It held hidden worry, but he tried to remain calm for Stiles's sake.

"Enough of that." The Sheriff said.

"Shouldn't the sheriff of Beacon Hills be kept up to date on such matters...especially since he was the one who put Winters away?" Stiles asked with a frown.

"And I am being kept up to date, Stiles. Far more than the public. But that's for me to worry about, not you." The Sheriff told his son. 

Stiles sighed, "But dad...this guy is dangerous. He has mob connections and when you put him away you cost them $20 million dollars plus all the weapons you confiscated at his arrest location. That's not something to take lightly. This guy is out and if you don't think he's out for blood-"

" _Stiles_!" His dad stopped him mid sentence. He stood in front of Stiles and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. He smiled reassuringly at him. "I'll be fine."

"But-"

"No buts. I've got to get to work. You've got school. We've dealt with psycho's before. We haven't let them interfere with our lives then, we're not going to do it now." His dad said and Stiles felt a smidge of his worry disappear. 

* * *

 

But it didn't disappear completely. 

He was tempted to call Braeden and ask for her help, but didn't for two reasons. One, he couldn't afford Braeden's services. And two, he was sure she'd mention something to Derek and seeing Derek after their break up was not something he needed right now. 

He was hurt and angry in ways that he didn't think were possible. He'd been foolish enough to think they were strong enough, good enough together, to actually last. But no. It was a fling and a mistake, or at least those were the reasons Derek gave him when he broke things off. 

Stiles had begged. He'd begged to understand, begged to not be left behind. He'd been pathetic and weak and he hated himself for it. 

The pack, or what's left of it, has separated and gone their own way to figure out their own minds and hearts. Which is why it was so easy for Stiles to isolate himself for as long as he did before the news came on and he learned that the most dangerous man his father ever put away had escaped. 

* * *

 

By the time he realized that his coffee from the local coffee shop he always goes to tasted weird, it was too late. 

His vision was blurred and he was losing his balance. The only reason he didn't fall flat on his face was because someone caught him. He didn't get to see who it was that caught him because a sack was placed over his head. 

He wasn't sure if he passed out or not, or if the drug in his system plus the sense deprivation had anything to do with it, but he'd lost track of time. When the sack was pulled off of his head and his vision came into focus and he could think again, he tried to get as much information as possible. But there wasn't much to take. He was tied to a steel chair, his hands bound behind his back, and his legs each tied to a side of the chair. They seemed to be in an empty warehouse. 

And by them, he meant himself and the bodyguards of the man in the three piece suit. 

"Mieczysław Stilinski..."

Stiles flinched when his real name was used. No one outside a small circle of people knew his name, and fewer knew how to pronounce it correctly. 

"Of course you're not surrounded by enough intelligent or caring people to actually go by that name. Your grandfather's name. So, should I call you Stiles?"

Stiles glared at the man but remained silent.

"You're probably very confused about the situation." The Man said. "Let's start with proper introductions, shall we? My name is Damien Moreau. And if you promise not to do anything stupid, the ties come off and we can have a proper conversation like a couple of civil human beings. Hm?"

Stiles stared at him for a good moment, eying the armed bodyguards who looked more than capable of snapping him in half without breaking a sweat. 

So he nodded. 

Moreau nodded to the henchman on the left and he walked up to Stiles and undid the restraints. Part of Stiles wanted to bash the guy's head and make a run for it but he knew he wouldn't make it. Not alive. So he forced himself to remain still until he was completely untied. When he was free he rubbed the rope marks on his skin as he stood up. Moreau smirked at him before saying, "Follow me." 

They walked to another level of the warehouse, this part was furnished. Or at least it had two leather arm chairs and a table in-between them. On the table were two tumblers and a bottle of something amber. 

Moreau took a seat and offered Stiles the other. The bodyguards went to flank Moreau. 

Stiles hesitantly took his seat and waited to see what would come of this. 

Moreau grabbed the bottle and served them both. He shoved a glass closer to Stiles while picking up his own and leaning back into his chair. Taking a sip from his beverage, Moreau eyed Stiles openly. 

"Would you feel calmer if I told you Ivan Winters isn't a threat to your father right now since he's in the basement level of this warehouse?" Moreau stated more than asked. 

But it did the trick. Stiles's eyes widened and his breath caught in his chest. 

Moreau smirked devilishly, "I am quite aware of your worries. And rightly so, Winters is a very dangerous man."

"What do you want?" Stiles finally spoke.

"To make you an even more dangerous man." Moreau said seriously.

Stiles furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I need a job done. But it's a job no man yet is qualified for. So I need to make one. I plan to take you and mold you into a perfect Hitter."

"And if I refuse?" Stiles asked.

"Why would you?" Moreau challenged. "I'm offering your father protection for as long as you're with me, doing as I say. I'll get you as far away from Beacon Hills as possible." He had a smirk about him as he added, "I know you've been itching to flee." Moreau waited until Stiles looked back at him after looking away in shame. "You feel weak...You feel vulnerable and alone. I can take you and forge that loneliness into chosen solitude. Turn that vulnerability into cunningness. I can make you strong."

"That all sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"

Moreau finished his drink and set his glass on the table. He looked at one of his bodyguards who reached behind himself and pulled out a gun. The henchman handed Moreau the gun and he stood up.

"Follow me." He instructed. 

As the bodyguards lifted him up, he didn't really have much of a choice.

* * *

 

"The business I'm in isn't cheap. But it is bloody. I _can_ promise you everything I'm offering, Stiles...but I need to know you've actually got what it takes." Moreau said as he handed Stiles the gun. 

Stiles accepted it gingerly and looked down at it with hesitation. He lifted his gaze to Winters in front of him, tied to a chair similar to when he first arrived, except he was beaten. 

Moreau seemed to notice that's what Stiles picked up on and said, "He was...being _difficult_ in accepting our invitation. _Busy_...stalking your father."

That made Stiles hold the gun correctly and tightened his hand on the trigger. 

"Pull the trigger, Stiles...and your father will be safe. For a _long_ time to come." Moreau promised. 

Stiles locked eyes with Winters. Neither of them blinked. A thousand thoughts running through Stiles's mind, and even more memories. 

"Well, Stiles? I'm waiting?"

"...."

"..."

_***BANG*** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily influence on Leverage season three episode fifteen, "The Big Bang Job".

Stiles thought about leaving a note. He thought about leaving a voice mail too. But he didn't. 

After he pulled the trigger on Winters, Moreau had him cleaned up and sent home. He got one last night of normality. He and his dad went out for burgers and fries, and Stiles didn't lecture his dad about his diet. They went home and watched the game, their team even won. He might have been a bit clingy, and his dad may have picked up on it but all he did was wrap one arm around Stiles and reassured him. 

"Everything is gonna be just fine."

Stiles smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah..."

Because he'll make sure of it. 

When it was time for bed, he hugged his dad tightly and said, "I love you."

"I love you too, kiddo...you sure you're okay?" His dad asked, full of concern. 

Stiles smiled, "I'll be fine."

They went to bed, his dad probably never imagining that was the last time they'd see each other in five years. 

Stiles left in the middle of the night, picked up by Moreau's car a block away. They drove straight to the airport and boarded a privet jet.

He didn't step foot in Beacon again until a year later, and it was for a job.

* * *

_"Do you have eyes on the target?"_

"Affirmative." Stiles replied as he looked through his sniper's scope. 

 _"Good. Unlike your other targets, I want you to pay special attention to this one."_ Moreau instructed over the ear piece. 

Stiles loosened his grip on his gun and straightened up. Placing a hand over the ear piece, he prompted, "Sir?" 

 _"You've always looked good in red, go and see if he does too."_ Moreau answered. 

"Understood." Stiles replied as he packed away his sniper rifle in record time. 

Soon after beginning his training with Moreau he's learned a lot. From different forms of martial arts, training his body to endure various levels of pain, learning weaponry of all kinds, and learning to be quick and efficient in all aspects. He learned he was one hell of a marksman and was trained by some of the best snipers Moreau could buy. Soon he was making his own kills in the name of Moreau. 

During one particular close call, Stiles needed to use his pocket knife in hand to hand combat. He unleashed this inner rage inside of him that he didn't know he'd been holding back and painted the area with his enemy's blood. It was the type of power and rage he hasn't felt since the Nogitsune's possession. It scared him a bit at how easily he could lose himself in that rage. But Monreau approved of it. 

He would comment 'how pretty red looks on you' whenever it happened. It's happened plenty of times since then. 

And it would happen once more now. 

Stiles studied the layout of his target's home before making plans on how to best enter without being noticed. After finding his opening he waited in the perfect secluded hiding space. 

His attack was quick and precise, taking his target down. Then began the part that made him Moreau's new favorite. 

" _Please_..." The target coughed out as blood spilled from his mouth. 

"Damien Moreau sends his regards." Was all Stiles replied with before he unleashed his inner rage. 

* * *

 

"Red really is your color." Moreau commented as Stiles reported back to him, confirming his kill. 

Stiles didn't respond. It wasn't expected of him. His job was done. He'd done it more than well. 

That was the first time his new name began to spread. 

Moreau's new lethal dog, "Red." 

* * *

_***Five Years Later*** _

(This is how the episode "Big Bang Job" starts)

Nathan Ford drove to the underground garage for the meet up with the Italian. It was shortly after getting out of his car that he heard the voice.

"I wasn't sure you'd come." 

"I thought I told you to back off." He said as he turned to face her. "I remember being pretty clear about it." 

 _"Life is change, Mr. Ford."_ The Italian said in Italian. _"For you that change is now."_

Nate scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Damien Moreau is coming." She warned. 

Nate blinked in surprise. "Coming? You mean here? Boston?" 

"Not exactly." She said as she passed over a file. 

As Nate opened it and looked at it's contents, she said, "Whatever plan you've made must begin now."

In the short moment Nate took to read the first page of the file he was given, she was gone when he looked up. Looking down at the attached photo with the word 'Beware the Red', Nate scoffed again. 

* * *

 

Stiles watched from one of the jet's windows as they landed and drove from the runway to the hanger. He watched as some of Moreau's girls talked to each other in excited whispers. Stiles rolled his eyes at them. He's seen plenty of them come and go, all from different parts of the world with different beginnings. Some were party girls of rich families who went to a particular party or event. Some were daughters or granddaughters of the men in Moreau's payroll who rolled up too much debt and the girl was an easy exchange. Some where the poor victims of circumstance from the movie _Taken_ 's plot. 

A long time ago Stiles would have cared and tried to help them. 

A long time ago Stiles was something close to a hero. 

A long time ago he recognized himself in the mirror. 

As the plane came to a stop the door opened and Stiles stood up. He let the girls get off first, and then he followed closely after Moreau. As they descended the stairs, Stiles overheard the conversation on the phone. The details he more or less knew about. He's not as curious as he was before. Or at least he doesn't ask the questions that pop into his mind.

_"What were you thinking killing the girl at this stage? Now we'll have to make up the work on her component."_

"She made herself a liability."Moreau answered without remorse. "There's only one way to deal with liabilities." He continued as he walked to the awaiting car. Stiles walked up a bit ahead to open the door for him. 

_"It was a mistake. We'll need more time to finish her battery."_

The girls got in while Moreau paused, seemingly becoming upset by the phone call. "I've got buyers waiting. I've come here in person to supervise the auction. Delay is not an option. Finish the Ram's Horn."

_"Don't threaten me, Moreau."_

"Not a threat, just a reminder." Moreau said as he stopped by the car's door. Stiles held it open for him. "Either you're an asset or a liability. I like you, Atherton. Be an asset." Moreau hung up the phone and sighed. He looked at Stiles and said, "I should have had you supervising a dimwit like him, Red. Problems like that wouldn't happen."

Stiles just nodded as he closed the door behind Moreau and went to sit up front in the passenger's seat. 

* * *

 

Moreau set himself up in the middle of town, at one of the best hotels his money could by, not at all bothered by the authorities. Even though Chapman was the head of security, Stiles was a bit more respected by Moreau's men. 

Chapman and Stiles had a lot in common. They were both hired and payed very well for their services to Moreau. They were very good soldiers in his cause. But unlike Chapman, Stiles had class and finesse. Chapman was clean enough to not leave prints, but still not as elegant as Stiles.

Moreau respected that elegance, and therefore respected Stiles. So others followed his example. 

While Moreau relaxed in the sauna near the pool and the girls did the same in the hot tub, Stiles stood guard with the other men. When two unscheduled men walked in, everyone did what they had to. The girls screamed and gasps and made their way to safety while everyone else took out their guns. Stiles included. 

The man with the long hair approached Chapman and they had an intense stare down. 

"Chapman." The man greeted. 

"Eliot." Chapman said back. 

"They gave you the job?" This...Eliot, stated more than asked, as he looked around. His eyes landed briefly on Stiles. 

Chapman looked his way for a moment too before looking back at Eliot and replying. "There was an opening."

Stiles knew himself that Moreau contemplated giving him the head of the security job too. But in the end reconsidered because of his age. 

The tension was high and everyone was about ready to pull the trigger, when Moreau stepped out. He eyed the new comers before smiling, "That's no way to treat an old friend." 

Everyone was still looked tensed but they were eying Moreau for instructions. Moreau just smiled like a cat whose had it's cream. 

"Damien." Eliot greeted. 

Moreau looked between Chapman and Eliot before stating, "Let's catch up." in a way that only a bad guy with hands as bloodied by business as Moreau could say. 

* * *

 

Moreau had the black man who came with Eliot hand cuffed to a chair. Everyone had gone back to their place. Eliot and his friend in the center on display. A cart was brought out full of drinks and Moreau served himself. As he eyed Eliot, Stiled began to see some of the hidden anger that comes close to the surface. 

He points at Eliot and claims, "You work alone." 

Eliot had his arms crossed and remained calm. "Things change." 

Moreau sighed as he sat down, coming eye to eye to the handcuffed man. "Don't take it personally. Takes me a while to warm up to people."

As he said that, a waitress came up to Eliot with two flutes of champagne, but Moreau stops her. "He prefers beer."

The waitress, awkwardness radiating off of her, nods and walks away as the handcuffed man reaches for a flute. Stiles thinks that if there's any time to not be sober, facing Damien Moreau was one of those times.

"This one of your retrieval jobs, Eliot?" Moreau asked. He was being arrogant and sarcastic. Obviously he felt more than a little cross with Eliot for whatever reason. Stiles's guess? Eliot used to be a favorite, and he got away. "Tell me, whose Snoopy lunch box do I have?" 

To his credit, Eliot remained unphased. "It's not a retrieval." He nods to his partner, "I'm escorting the middleman. I'm contracted to make sure he gets in -- _and out_ \--" he stresses. "With the offer."

His partner clears his throat and finally demands to be heard. When he speaks, Stiles nearly laughs at his French accent. "Pardon. Monsieur, my client has heard of what you're selling and would like to acquire the Ram's Horn."   

Moreau was more than amused by this, and that wasn't really a good thing. It was a game to him. Like a mouse standing up to a cat, but unlike in Tom and Jerry...Tom being Moreau, Tom always wins. 

"And your client is...?" Moreau prompted.

"If you indulge us with the details of the auction, we can make a bid, and all will be revealed. I assure you we are working in good faith."

"I'm sure you are...I'm sure you are. But I don't know you." Moreau said. Then he looked up at Eliot, "But I do know _you_." 

And there it was...or it was coming, he should say. 

"We could talk." Moreau offered.

"I ain't much on talking, Moreau." Eliot replied. 

"Okay..." Moreau placed his drink down. "Let's keep it short." He said as he stood up. Walking up to Eliot's handcuffed partner, he kicked the chair into the pool. All of the henchmen, minus Stiles, laughing.

"I'm sure you've told your clients I don't do business with strangers." Moreau spoke casually. 

"That's why I'm here. To vouch for them." Eliot replied. He did well to hide his panic, but Stiles could sense it from his place in the room. 

Moreau made a face. "Oh, a little vague."

"I never told anybody about you." Eliot said. 

In the pool, many bubbles rose to the surface and Stiles saw Eliot's partner trying in vain to rise to the top, but being held back by the chair. It reminded him of the Kanima incident. How he and Derek were stranded in the pool, Derek paralyzed from the neck down, having to rely on Stiles despite not trusting him. 

His expression darkened at the memories. And by the action before him. It was clear to Stiles that the man in the pool had trusted Eliot, but Moreau was one hell of a secret. One you didn't go around bragging unless you have Moreau's permission and protection. Coming here like this, the man in the pool hadn't had a clue. 

It reminded Stiles of when he let go of Derek to try to reach his phone and failed. Derek had felt betrayed but still, Stiles didn't let him drown. Didn't do much for their friendship at the time, even if the event itself helped them work together in the future...and maybe it helped with them hooking up. But the lack of trust also played a hand in why they didn't last. 

"I use the same confidentiality with all my clients." Eliot's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "However I _can_ say, they're overseas. You sell it to the international buyers, it leaves U.S. soil immediately-- no trace back to you."

"I already have international buyers." Moreau countered. "So, uh, it's not an issue." 

Moreau looked at the drowning man, turned around to pick up his drink, and sipped from it calmly. He and Eliot had this intense stare down, Moreau buying his time, and Stiles was having a hard time keeping still. Part of him wanted to dive in after the man, save him, let him breathe. Drowning was a horrible way to go. Worst, it brought back memories that he worked very hard to push to the back of his brain.

"What else you got?" Moreau finally asked. 

Eliot looked very torn but he finally gave Moreau something he found interesting. One of the guards handed over the keys which were dropped into the pool. Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The man managed to uncuff himself and pull himself out of the pool. 

Soaked and trying to not lash out in anger, he stood in front of Moreau. Stiles had to give him credit. He was positive this man wasn't French, and yet he didn't drop the persona he brought with him. That took balls. 

"And what message should I convey to my employer?" 

Moreau and his men laughed, all but Stiles. He pointed at Eliot's partner, still laughing and said. "I like this one!" He chuckled as he enjoyed his moment. "Glad we could strike a deal. Reminds me of Belgrade."

Eliot and Moreau stared down for another few seconds before Moreau turned, nudged his head to Stiles to follow, and left the room. While Chapman made sure Eliot and his friend didn't cause any trouble getting out, it was Stiles's job to make sure nothing happened to Moreau while they relocated to another safe location. 

"Were you unsettled by that, Red?" Moreau asked him as they walked to his changing room. 

"Of course not." Stiles replied without hesitation. 

"You seemed rather... _captivated_. Eliot's a good man, he wouldn't have let his friend drown." Moreau stated. Though it was a good prompt to continue the conversation, Stiles knew better. There was a line he didn't cross. He wasn't friends with Moreau, he was his employee and Moreau wasn't being concerned. At least not about Stiles's well being, but his own negotiations. 

"I'm not brothered, sir." Stiles replied.

"Good. I like you, Red. You are what Eliot Spencer could have been." 

* * *

 

 

"Spencer wants details for the auction, he needs to kill Atherton. Your job is to make sure he's dead. Don't disappoint me." Moreau warned. 

Chapman nodded and left to go pick up Eliot Spencer. Stiles stood behind Moreau, and once Chapman was gone he asked, "Atherton's become a liability?"

"One not worth redemption. It's what happens with his lot from time to time. Too prideful for their own good." Moreau replied. "Keep sharp, Red. With Spencer around...well, it's best to sleep with one eye open and with enough bullets."

"Sir." Stiles nodded in response, to show that he understood.

* * *

 

Stiles was at his post near Moreau while he worked. There were other plenty of men also guarding the area while Moreau's group of partying women enjoyed themselves by the hot tub and ping pong table. 

One of Moreau's other guards escorted a man in a suit who came up to Moreau and whispered something in his ear. Moreau snapped his gaze to the group of women and narrowed his glare at one in particular. It was an Italian woman Stiles had noticed. She wasn't like any of the others, but he couldn't put down exactly why. Looks like he's about to find out. 

Moreau orders two of his guards to restrain her while ordering the others to leave. 

 _"What's going on? What are you doing?"_ She asked in Italian. 

"Oh stop it...you've been found out. You should know by now what happens to... _traitors_." Moreau spat at her. He turned away from her and gave a dismissive hand to one of his guards. "Kill her."

" _What_?!" She cried.

"Wait!" Stiles spoked on instinct. Even if it was an instinct he's had years to shut down and quiet.

Moreau turned to him, steeled eyed and dominating as he demanded, " _What_...did you say?"

Stiles spared her a glance before turning to look at Moreau with as much confidence as he could muster while his mind raced a thousand miles per minute. 

"If you kill her you're missing out on an opportunity."

"And what, pray tell, _is_ that opportunity?"

"What are the chances that the moment you find out about a spy is the same time someone like Eliot Spencer comes back in your life?" Stiles prompted.

Stiles could see as Moreau made connections in his head, then he looked at Stiles and demanded, " _And_?"

"Use her. As bait. As a decoy...show Eliot Spencer that no one laughs at Damien Moreau's face... _to_ his face." Stiles added the last bit, knowing it would do the job. 

Moreau composed himself and nodded. He ordered the guards holding the Italian to take her away. To Stiles he turned and made it clear it was a threat, "Nothing better go amiss." 

When Moreau walked away, a smug Chapman at his heel, Stiles closed his eyes and hoped to a god he didn't really believe in, that he didn't just sent himself and his father to an early grave.

* * *

 

Stiles could easily hear the gun fire going on, even if Moreau acted like it wasn't. Moreau was pacing around impatiently waiting for Chapman to come through and tell him Eliot Spencer and his buyer were dead, along with the girl. 

The privet jet was being pulled in and prepped. The two girls who were flying with them boarded and Moreau was about to do the same, Stiles following a bit behind. 

"Moreau."

Stiles turned the same time as Moreau as a man in a suit walked up with the Italian woman. 

It was very much like a Mexican Stand off as Moreau turned around to face them, amused smirk on his face. "Look at that. You saved the girl. Who are you?" Moreau asked as he took off his sunglasses to analyze the man.

"You don't know?" The man asked in turn.

Moreau shrugged. "Not yet. Not that it matters."

"We found your bomb." The man said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Moreau replied. "I've never had any bomb in my possession."

"Well yes, um, did you take payment yet?" The man asked. "Because right now it lies scattered in burning pieces across a quarter-mile of railroad track, and whoever bought it is sitting in a Baltimore waterfront wondering why Damien Moreau cheated them out of, what, $20 million, $30 million?...I hope it wasn't the Koreans." The man tisked as he took out his phone. "Not super forgiving."

"Who are you?" Moreau asked, anger coming out and ruining his usual calm demeanor.

While he did that, the man made a call. He gave Moreau the 'wait a moment' finger gesture. When someone picked up on the other end, the man said, "Yeah. Give it to them. Now." 

"Now, I just delivered proof of your crimes to the police." 

"You don't have any proof of my crimes!" Moreau cried out, indignant by the claim. 

"Hey, you're right. You're right. I don't, no. That's right." The man agreed. "But I'm framing you, with _her_ crimes." The man said as he pointed to the Italian woman. Her eyes widened as she looked at him in shock. 

"You--you _did_ open it. You lied." 

The man looked shocked that she was shocked by that, "Of course I did. I..." he gestured between her and Moreau. 

Moreau was eying this with a critical eye and Stiles could see his mind working like mad. 

"Anyway, five months ago, she asked me to steal records of money-laundering through blood diamonds. Now the CIA, the NSA, the Russians were moving Black-Ops money through Alexander Moto. Now, you cover your tracks perfectly--them, not so much." The man explained. "Now, there's enough evidence in those envelopes to take down governments. All I had to do was change the accounts in terms of where the money went so it went into _your_ accounts."

Moreau was losing his patience and it was very clear. "None of that is true." 

"Ah, who cares?! True, schmue. It's all, you know, I mean, can you imagine governments-- now they have a fall guy -- you? Look, the one thing that I've learned, Moreau, over the last three years is that, well, the only thing more ruthless than a criminal is a politician trying to save his own ass."

Moreau's patience was _gone_.

"Who are you!?" He demanded.

The man chuckled as he approached Moreau, which Stiles thought was a mistake, but he just stayed quiet and invisible in the background. "You know how it feels like you've been poked by a stick, you know, over these past six months or so?"

Stiles did know. 'So, that was you?' he mentally asked. Slightly impressed.

"I'm that stick."

The door to the hanger open and Eliot Spencer was running towards them. When Moreau gets mad, he gets lethal. He reached for his firearm as Eliot yelled, "You got one shot, Moreau!"

Moreau aims from Eliot, to the man, to the woman. Stiles acts on an instinct he's shut down for the past five years and jumped in front of the bullet.

Stiles collapsed to the floor in pain while the man stops and tries to calm Eliot down.

"Eliot! Eliot, no!" He screamed and then in a quieter voice added, "I've got other plans for him."

Eliot still seemed to be seeing red and contemplating chasing after the jet, but the Italian Woman and The Man ran to Stiles's aid. "Eliot!" The Man cried as he and the woman tried to stop the bleeding.

"It's okay, you're gonna be fine." The Man tried to reassure him.

"That's twice you saved my life..." The Italian said.

Stiles tried to reply but couldn't.

* * *

Stiles blacked out sometime during the ride to the hospital. When he woke up, he was in the hospital bed, attached to all sorts of machines. He tried to get up and disconnect himself when a hand stopped him and pressed him back.

"Hey, stop that. You're in no condition to be moving."

Eliot Spencer.

Stiles ignored him and disconnected the needle in the back of his hand.

" _Hey_! I said don't move." He ordered.

"I basically just gave Damien Moreau the biggest middle finger I could give him. I don't have time to be here." Stiles groaned.

"Damien Moreau is on his way to San Lorenzo. You're safe right now." Eliot tried to reassure him.

Stiles scoffed, "It's not me I'm worried about."

"Then who?" Eliot asked.

Stiles locked heated stares with the man before sighing and giving in. "I swore my allegiance and services to Moreau and in exchange he promised to keep my father safe. And he has. Now that I've double crossed him, those guard dogs that were once protecting my father will gladly use him as a chew toy."

"...Not gonna happen." Eliot said.

"Right..." Stiles scoffed again. "Why's that?"

"Cos I'm gonna make sure he's alright...but you gotta do something for me in exchange." Eliot said. 

"What?" Stiles asked after a pause. 

"Help us take down Damien Moreau."

Stile thought for a moment. He knew a lot about Moreau. How he worked, how he slept, how he acted in different situation. Knew habits and details and codes and numbers. 

"Secure my father first and then you have a deal."

"How can I know you'll help us?" Eliot asked.

"You know what it's like working for Moreau. My dad's all I got left in this world...I can't go back to him, not after what I've done. And if I want to go forward, I can't be looking over my shoulder every minute for Moreau or his goons. My only option is to help you..."

Eliot analyzed him for a moment before nodding in agreement. Then he extended his hand and Stiles accepted it, and they shook on it. 

* * *

 

As the Sheriff stared down the barrel of a gun after being attacked out of the blue, he closed his eyes and tried to make his peace. In his mind he apologized to Claudia for failing her and Stiles, and wondering where his son was at the moment. 

When it was taking too long and he was pretty sure he was still alive, the Sheriff opened his eyes slowly. The men who had attacked him were all gone. He pulled out his gun, finally able to reach for it, and walked around the corner to investigate. 

Four men were on the ground unconscious, while the fifth was being tazered by a blonde woman with a smirk on her face. 

"I really like tazing people." She said with mirth. 

"Yeah, yeah." A gruff voice said from the shadows. 

The Sheriff raised his gun at them and ordered, "Freeze! Hands in the air."

They did so, but not too high...and almost mockingly. 

"Can I taze him too?" The blonde asked.

"No, Parker, you can't taze the sheriff!" The guy barked out. 

"I technically could, but I guess I shouldn't." The blonde replied. 

"On the ground!" The Sheriff ordered. 

"Can't do that...just cleaning house." The man said.

"Who are you?" The Sheriff demanded.

"...friends. These men? Hired hitters with mob connections. You send these to the feds, you understand me?" The man said.

"What? Who are they?" The Sheriff demanded. 

"They _were_ protecting you." 

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" The Sheriff demanded.

"Look, I can't explain...just know that you're safe now." The man look like he was contemplating something and then he said. "Your son sent us."

"Stiles? You...you know Stiles? Where is he?!"

"Does this smell like chloroform to you?" The Sheriff hadn't seen when the blonde had moved but she had. Before he could register her question, there was a cloth over his mouth and nose and his vision went dark. 

* * *

 

"Damn it, Parker!" Eliot cursed as he rushed over and helped pick up Stiles's dad. 

"What?" Parker asked with a shrug. "You said I couldn't taze him. Besides, he's gonna wake up in a few hours. And without pain!"

"I'm pretty sure he hit his head!" Eliot exclaimed.

"A bump to the head compared to this many volts?! Pick a side!" Parker cried.

"You're insane!"

They bantered on like that while they carefully placed the Sheriff back in his squad car and secured the mob guys. They made a few calls to the local fed field office to pick them up and made sure someone found the Sheriff to tend to him. 

"Do you think Red will come back once we're done with Moreau?" Parker asked Eliot as they watched a deputy try to get the Sheriff to wake up. 

As they drove toward the hospital's direction, Eliot answered honestly, "I dunno. We gotta survive Moreau first."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily based on Leverage's season three, episode 16. "The San Lorenzo Job"

"Damien Moreau is done." Sophie said as she approached the group at the counter. 

Hardison took out his phone and read through the headlines, "Look at this. 'Damien Moreau under investigation for antiquities smuggling.' 'Moreau linked to blood diamonds.' 'Moreau assets in Switzerland, Germany, and Bolivia _seized_.' Last time someone had this much press in the news, they had a nasty video out."

"What kind of video?" Parker asked in her oblivious to social norms way. 

Hardison stuttered, "I-I-I don't know. I did not watch it. What would be wrong." It was obvious he watched it, but it wasn't something anyone would be proud to admit. 

Nate brought the attention back to Moreau as he spoke, "Now, Moreau is sitting in San Lorenzo, a country with no extradition, with his own privet security, and he's going to wait this out until it blows over. But he _will_ be back--I guarantee you."

"Now, we've been in this situation before...when I pushed you into it." As he said it, his face did show the regret he felt because of his previous actions.

"You were drunk.  _Super_ drunk." Parker stated.

Pointing out _why_ Nate felt regret about some of his actions. To which he deadpanned. "Thanks, Parker. I remember that." He cleared his throat before continuing. "So, I've pushed you. I've tricked you. I-I-I've lied to you. So now I'm just going to ask you. And if any of you-- _any_ of you--say no, then it's done. We don't do it." 

There was a silence as they all looked at each other, trying to reach each other's thoughts. Even if they got Moreau in trouble with a lot of the world and it's higher ups, he was still a very connected man. Still a very dangerous man, who ran home where he's his _most_ powerful. He wasn't someone anyone went with unless they had a serious plan to deal with him indefinitely because Moreau wrath was something none of them wanted. 

"Please..." Nate asked of them. "Help me take down a guy like Damien Moreau for good."

They looked at each other once more before agreeing. 

Then Eliot said, "We're gonna need some help."

Nate already knew who he was talking about and nodded towards Eliot, "See how's feeling."

* * *

 

"How old _are_ you?" Parker asked as she and Eliot slipped into the booth where Stiles was eating. 

She asked mainly because Stiles was drinking a beer. 

"Twenty-two." Stiles replied as he continued eating his burger. 

It was a very well hidden place. One of those 'you really have to be looking for it' kind of nooks. It was a very rustic style pub that felt kinda homey. 

"You know, places like these are probably used to regulars. You probably stick out like a sore thumb." Eliot commented.

"I know, but it was close to the place I'm crashing in and kinda discreet compared to other places. Moreau may be out of the country and on a lot of people's hit list, but he's still got plenty of hitters at his beck and call...and he can hold a grudge." Stiles replied. 

"Parker, why don't you go order us something to eat?" Eliot said.

"But there's a waiter-" she began.

" _Now_ , Parker!" Eliot stressed. 

She looked between Stiles and Eliot before 'getting the hint' and giving them space. 

"Your daddy's safe. And worried. When's the last time you were home?" Eliot asked, voice kinder. Probably the kindest Stiles's has heard directed towards him since the fateful night he left home. 

"Too long." Stiles replied. 

"How'd you even get on Moreau's radar? No offense, but I _do_ believe that's your real age and you can't have gotten that good a rep so young."

"..." Stiles pushed his burger aside and stared off into the distance before he spoke up. "He was looking for a Hitter for a job he had. But he couldn't hire anyone that existed. For this particular job, he needed to create one."

"He chose you..."

Stiles nodded. "I was in a vulnerable place. All my friends were heading off in different places with high school graduation coming. My boyfriend...the guy I was with," Stiles mentally corrected himself, "told me we weren't really what I thought we were." He shrugged as if it were nothing. Keeping up the poker face he's learned to hold. "The world I had come to know and rely on was changing and I wasn't ready. I felt scared and alone...as you know my dad's the sheriff. Been in law enforcement all his working career. His promotion to sheriff came when he put away a dangerous mobster behind bars. Broke up a very big operation...five years ago, that guy escapes."

"Let me guess...he weren't all too happy with your daddy? Moreau saw the potential in you and offered you a deal." Eliot could easily imagine that was Moreau's game plan.

"He offered me Winters on a silver platter and with one pull of the trigger...my dad is safe. At the time...my dad was all I had. The only parent and family I had left. It was my duty to do everything I could to keep him safe..." Stiles explained. "Gaining the name of 'Red' and becoming Moreau's youngest and most lethal guard dog came next..."

"And now?" Eliot prompted.

Stiles shrugged. "I told you, I can't go home after all I've done for Moreau. And I can't really do anything with Moreau still out there pulling strings. I'm guessing you're here for my help?"

"You gonna help us?" Parker asked, coming back with two more beers.

"Yeah...what the hell!?" Stiles agreed. "Let's take down Damien Moreau."

* * *

 

"Damien Moreau is holed up in San Lorenzo." Hardison began his presentation and placed San Lorenzo on his screens. 

Once Stiles agreed to help take down Moreau, they rendezvoused back at Leverage HQ.

"Now, this was a British colony up until 1969, so the official language is still English. Less than 300,000 people living on 120 square miles. The population of the capital city couldn't even fill in the cheap seats at Fenway. I mean, you could fit the entire government in this room." Hardison said as he turned to talk to everyone. Nate, Sophie, Parker and Stiles were on the bench looking over papers and taking notes. Eliot was in the background making a call. 

"What's Moreau using for resources?" Sophie asked.

"He's got millions in jewelry and gold bars, in places all over the world. For people like Moreau, currency isn't always money. He's also a classy guy with items worth millions in the black market. Not to mention favors he can cash in..." Stiles stated. 

"He's right." Hardison said as he clicked his remote and the screens showed a villa, "In this particular villa it's mostly jewelry and gold bars though. But I mean, we took out his international business but he can still afford to sell and buy this country five times over."

"I'm thinking 'The Spanish Turnabout.'" Sophie mused. 

"Mm. No, he's not gonna leave the country. The turnabout pays off at an airport." Parker said.

"The Peking Watch Con." Sophie suggested instead. 

"Nice!" Parker liked that one.

"Guys, guys, this _is_ Damien Moreau." Nate reminded them. "Now, we got lucky the first time we caught him on his blind side, and he still almost killed us. Now, if he catches wind that we're running a con or a heist that he's seen before, we're done. It's gotta be something new."

"There are no new cons, Nate." Sophie said sadly.

Before Nate could reply, Eliot got up and tossed his phone to Hardison, "Put this up on the big screen. Remember I told you I had a friend in San Lorenzo? Make sure it's encrypted too, he's taking a huge risk talking to us." Eliot said as Haridon did what he asked. 

"Oh, you mean do my job?" Hardison asked.

"Do your job!" Eliot agreed with his usual banter he had with Hardison. 

"You mean the job I've been doing for the past five years?" Hardison asked, but managed to bring the video call up to the screen, which interrupted whatever Eliot was going to say. 

Eliot stood at attention and greeted the man. "General Flores, could you please tell my team what you were saying about Moreau."

General Flores smiled fondly at Eliot as he said, "I have not been General for a long time...commander." That gained a few looks Eliot's way but it was ignored as the General continued. "You understand, we've had open elections in San Lorenzo since our independence in 1969. Democracy is, uh, hard, but we were making progress until President Ribera." As he spoke, Haridon brought up information about Ribera on the screen for the team to read. "Ribera was a minor officer in our security forces. Then Damien Moreau came to our country. He bankrolled Ribera's political career. Within a year, Ribera had bribed and murdered his way into the presidency. Anyone who opposes him is declared an enemy of the state. They are imprisoned, and by law, their assets are seized, their families...bankrupted."

"This is why the general's in hiding." Eliot told them. "He's your candidate running against Ribera."

"General, I understand you're taking quite a risk for yourself and your family by talking to us. Uh, we--We certainly owe you a debt." Nate said. 

"No, I am the one with the debt. Spencer saved my life...twice." The General replied. 

Eliot chuckled, "Once...and a half."

"How do you half save someone's life?" Parker asked.

"'Cause I was the one that was sent to kill him, so I figured that only counts as half, right?" Eliot responded.

"That actually makes sense..." Hardison deadpanned. 

"General, I--" Nate couldn't finish because there was a _thudding_ noise coming from the other side. 

"What is it?" Eliot asked, anger appearing suddenly. The noises was of breaking wood and metal on metal. 

"I don't know..." The General was puzzled as he looked around. 

"General, is that a secure line?" Eliot demanded as the noises got closer and louder. 

Soldier in SWAT gear appeared as they apprehended General Flores. Eliot turned to Hardison and yelled, "I THOUGHT YOU SAID THAT THING WAS SAFE, MAN!"

"General!" Nate cried out.

"It _was_ , man!" Hardison exclaimed. "They just hacked it from the other side. It's serious software like...uh..."

" _Manticore_?"

They all looked up when they heard Moreau's voice. He smiled evilly into the camera. "Thank you for destroying Duberman last year. Bankrupted his company, put his old servers on the open market. Amazing what $10 million and some clever tech support can do!"

"Moreau..." Nate said deadly serious as the whole crew crowded around. 

"Hey, don't blame yourselves for this. Ribera makes sure I stay safe, so I make sure he stays president. Actually, to be fair, I wouldn't have found Flores if you hadn't contacted him, so uh, go ahead and do blame yourselves."

"You can't just kill a war hero like Flores." Eliot said just as deadly as Nate had spoken.

"No, of course not." Moreau agreed. "We've got U.N. election inspectors here, world media. No, he's just in prison until after the election. Then he'll have a car accident. You know how these things are done...Or, uh, you used to. But maybe Red can refresh your mind in case you forgot." His eyes locked on Stiles and the anger he tried not to show to them was very present now. "That is, if his memory hasn't slipped...sleep tight."

And the connection was lost. 

"What did he mean?" Eliot asked Stiles, even if his worry for the General was coming off as self hatred and anger to putting him in that danger. 

"My contract with Moreau. It's no longer standing...long story short...he's threatening my father." Stiles replied. 

"Red..." Parker said as Eliot stormed off and Nate pulled out his phone. 

"Ciao." Everyone turned to look at him. In Italian, he continued his conversation. _"I need to call in a favor."_

* * *

"I'm sorry I can't come with you." Stiles says to Nate as he hands him a notebook half way filled with notes. 

As much as he would love to help them take down Moreau and rescue the General, he couldn't take the risk of leaving his father unprotected after Moreau's not so subtle threat. But he did grab an empty note book and filled it up with as many helpful notes that he could think of to take down Moreau. Adding any information, codes, accounts, and names that may come in handy while the Leverage team was in San Lorenzo.

"I understand. And this, this helps." Nate replied as he holds up the notebook.

"You have my number. If there's anything I can do from my end, don't hesitate to call." Stiles said. 

"You got it. Stay safe kid. We win this...you should come celebrate with us." Nate said. 

Stiles just smirked a bit as he watched Nate and his team board a private jet. 

As he watched the jet take off, the Italian came up to stand next to him. They watched the plane until it was out of sight completely.

"They are insane." The Italian stated. 

"They have to be, if they want to defeat Moreau." Stiles replied. 

"What are _you_ going to do now?" The Italian asked him. 

"Until they either succeed or fail, try to stay alive while making sure no one kills my father."

"And if they fail?" The Italian asked, genuinely curious.

Stiles took a moment to consider. Then he replied. "Sell my soul to the most cunning of devils and rage war against Moreau myself. This won't end until he's gone...one way or another."

"Good luck, Mr. Red. We're all going to need it." 

* * *

 

Good news?

Moreau being chased off to San Lorenzo put a stop to a _lot_ of his business. 

Bad news?

Moreau knew how to hold a grudge and how to make threats very real. 

It wasn't quantity that Stiles had to worry about, it was quality. There was only one threat that was looming over his father, and as far as many governments were concerned thanks to Damien Moreau...he didn't exist. The hardest thing about fighting a ghost? Well...how do you kill someone who's already dead in three different countries?

For his father's sake, Stiles needed to figure that out and soon. 

* * *

 

It's hard being back in Beacon Hills, and harder still is remaining on the down low. The pack has stayed together and has grown, stronger than ever with some old faces coming back. 

Stiles tries his damn best to avoid anyone he might have known while making as much noise as possible to this 'Ghost'. He sabotages any plan he sets to attack his father and irritates him by being three steps ahead. 

In the end Stiles managed to lure him towards the outskirts of town and they have a royal gun battle that's one for the record books. Stiles had four bullets graze him, two embedded somewhere in his body, but adrenaline pumps through him and keeps him going. When he and the Ghost run out of bullets they face of in a hand to hand combat where Stiles has a bit of an advantage with his speed and knife skills, but his opponent is bigger. He's pushed off a ceiling and when he lands he hears bones break and it's really hard to breathe. But he keeps fighting until he's pushed hard onto his back and he realized he must have a broken rib or two...because the wind is really knocked out of him and it hurts too much to sit up. 

His body goes limp and he submits to his fate. This was it. He could only pray beyond any hope that his father is left alone after he's dead. 

_***BANG*** _

Stiles _heard_ the gun shot but...he was pretty sure he was still alive. 

His vision was blurring, so even as the person who saved him stood over him, he couldn't make out who they were. 

* * *

 

"Where is he?" Derek demanded as he burst through the hospital doors. 

Braeden got up from her seat and met up with him. 

"He's in surgery right now." She answered his question. 

"Are you _sure_ it's him?" He demanded. 

Five years! Five years since Stiles vanished without a trace, without a word. Then the other day the Sheriff is almost killed only to be saved by two strangers who were apparently sent by Stiles? It's been maddening to say the least. 

"Yes." Braeden replied.

When she heard of what happened, she was sure they'd find Stiles in a matter of days. But as more and more evidence came up and they realized what must have happened...things got crazier. The escaped convict who was making threats against the Sheriff and others who worked for him, was found dead. There was no weapon to be found, no DNA or tracks or clues of any sort to indicate who could have killed him. The only reason the pack knew it was Stiles was because...why else would he be gone? They searched high and low, hired private investigators, sent out missing posters, asked Agent McCall to ask around for a few favors. Even Derek, Braeden, and Chris who had connections in different parts of the world couldn't land a single hit on Stiles. 

So finding him again after all this time, all this effort, and so close to home after searching the world? 

It was intense. 

"What happened?" Derek asked.

"From what I've managed to gather, whoever he was fighting was another hired gun targeting the Sheriff. Stiles was making sure that it didn't happen...made himself the target instead...Derek, the things I saw-"

"I don't care...he's back now. _That's_ what matters." Derek interrupted her. 

"His fighting styles, the weapons he had with him, _and_ what I saw while he was fighting _do_ matter!" She insisted. "We can't ignore his time away...especially not from his side."

"Braeden... _drop_ this." Derek warned.

It wasn't the first time she's brought it up. 

Chris would listen to her, because Chris and Braeden have more contacts in the world than he does, and the things that were reported back them were awful. They were monstrous. They were Stiles.

But it couldn't have been. Derek refused to believe it.

* * *

 

Hours passed and even though Derek should have called the Sheriff or Scott or any of the others, he didn't. Not until they had confirmed information about... _anything_. Not until he saw Stiles first with his own eyes. 

When even more hours passed, Derek demanded information about how Stiles was doing, only to be told there was no one by that name there. 

" _What_? Stilinski! He was in surgery!" Derek barked.

The nurse flipped through her files then shook her head. "Sorry...the Sheriff was here a few days ago after being attacked. Maybe you mean him? He was released after a few hours."

"No, not him! His son!" Derek clarified.

"I brought him in earlier yesterday morning. He was severely hurt and rushed right into surgery." Braeden clarified.

The nurse's eyes widened, "Oh, I think you meant our John Doe. Yes, he was severely injured but he pulled through the worst of it. You just missed him actually."

" _Missed_ him? What the hell does that mean? He should be resting if he just got out of surgery!" Derek cried.

The nurse shrugged. "Look, it's above my pay-grade. Someone with special clearance and a lot of power came to pick him up. He was air lifted and sent to another location. I don't know what more to tell you."

Not having anything else to share and needing to continue with her rounds, the nurse excused herself.

Derek turned to Braeden, "What the hell is going on?"

Braeden looked as confused as he felt. All she could do was shrug. 

* * *

 

When Stiles next woke up, he did it with a groan. When he managed to blink his vision into focus, the first thing he saw was Nathan Ford. 

He smirked a bit as he mumbled, "You're n' dead..."

"Neither are you." Nate said with a small smirk as he put down the book he was reading while he waited by Stiles's bedside for him to wake up. 

"Barely..."

"Yeah, looks like you had as much of an eventual time as we did."

"So...Moreau?" Stiles prompted. 

"Is no longer a problem. We're free men." Nate said with a small, but sincere smile. 

Stiles let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. But now that Moreau was gone, no one was after him, and he was cleared...a sense of uncertainty rocked him. What would he do now? He couldn't go back home and look any of his old friends and family in the eye. Not after all he's done for Moreau. Not after all the blood he's got on his hands. He was a weapon...a guard dog...

"You're a criminal." Nate's voice brought him out of his thoughts. He didn't reply and just waited for Nate to continue. "The rich and powerful, they take what they want. We steal it back. Sometimes...bad guys make the best good guys. We provide... "leverage". You've got some time to recover, use it to think it over, okay?"

"Think-- you mean?"

"The Italian said that Moreau told you, you were what Eliot could have been. And you can still be. You can be...what he's become."

"What has he become?" Stiles asked. 

"Someone with...a little less _red_ on their ledger." 

Stiles looked at him in the eyes for a moment before replying, "We'll be in touch." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> ....for now.


End file.
